"Hermione?"

Hermione turned to her boss and forced a tired smile. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Jenna asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "You don't look like you've slept much."

"I'm perfectly fine," Hermione replied in a chipper-sounding voice. "Lots of traffic outside my window last night. No problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes."

"You could go home if you want," Jenna offered.

"No!" Hermione said, a little too quickly. "No, no thank you. I'd rather be here, honestly."

"Well, if you're sure. . . ."

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay, then."

Jenna watched Hermione retreat quickly down the hallway, a small, fragile-looking figure. Something was not quite right with her. "She needs something to do," Jenna said aloud. She sighed and headed in the direction of her office.

Hermione arrived in her cubicle, expecting a place of sanctuary, and instead was confronted by multiple grinning Dracos on the walls. A dry sob tore from her throat, and she fumbled for her wand and, with shaking fingers, directed all the photographs into one neat pile. She snatched it up, avoiding the sight of his face, and stuffed the pictures into one of her desk drawers, which she locked with her wand. She groped for her chair and sat down heavily, placing her wand on top of her desk. She blinked rapidly, forcing away tears, and heaved a long shuddering breath.

When Jenna arrived, carrying a large pile of folders , Hermione was sitting with her head propped up on her hand, staring blankly off into space.

"Hermione?" Jenna asked worriedly. "Are you sure you don't want to take a sick day?"

Hermione jumped. "No, no, I'm fine," she said quickly, straightening up.

"No, you're obviously not," Jenna responded, setting her pile on Hermione's desk with a frustrated thump. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not sick," Hermione said forcefully, "I'm just tired."

"I'm sending you home," Jenna announced, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but you obviously can't work like this."

"No, please," Hermione begged. "Let me stay. I would much rather be here than at home. You don't understand . . ."

Jenna must have suddenly noticed the bareness of Hermione's walls. "You two broke up," she said bluntly.

Hermione shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm sorry," Jenna said quietly, giving Hermione's back an encouraging pat. "I know what it feels like." Hermione gave no response. "Here," Jenna said presently, "I've brought you copies of all the files of patients in our department. You can sort them out, and then, after lunch, you can make the rounds with me and learn how I change details on the records. It's called a Protean Charm—I assume you've heard of it."

Hermione laughed softly, recalling the DA back in fifth year. "Oh, yes. I know it."

"Good," Jenna said, backing out of the tiny room. "I'll come find you after lunch, then."

"All right."

Hermione began sifting through the small mountain of paperwork sitting on her desk, alphabetizing, color-coding, and sorting it into drawers. It was mind-numbing, time-consuming work, and it took her mind off other matters. She was slogging her way through the Fs when a magical bell sounded, signaling the beginning of the lunch hour. She sighed, looked out into the hallway, shook her head, and kept working.

An hour later a second bell rang, and Hermione didn't even lift her head from Claire Kennadie's file. She ignored the flood of wizards streaming by her cubicle, chattering loudly. She concentrated instead on her mundane work, not allowing any thoughts to go through her mind except occasional ones like "Should I start a new color category?"

There was a knock on the wall of her cubicle and she jumped, sending bits of parchment flying.

"Oh, sorry," Jenna said apologetically, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Hermione said quickly, summoning the parchment back onto her desk. "Do you want me now?"

"Please."

Hermione stood and followed Jenna down the hallway to her office. "Every day I poke my head in all the wards just to check on things," Jenna explained on the way. "I update my master records with any changes, and because of the Protean Charm, everyone's records change. I've found it's the most efficient way. I just need to pop in here and grab my quill—" She ducked into her office and reemerged clutching a gaudy pink flamingo feather quill, laughing at the revolted look on Hermione's face. "I know, it's hideous. It was a present, and I felt kind of obligated to use it. Come on."

She led the way out into the waiting area, stopped briefly to mutter something encouraging to a woman who sat wringing a handkerchief in her hand and looking pale as death, and then went down another hallway that Hermione hadn't entered before. Jenna stopped at the first doorway and stuck her head in.

"Good afternoon, Janis," she said, smiling. "Just checking in—how're things going?"

"Farell's the same," Janis replied, wiping her hands briskly on the sides of her robes. "She's—oh, hello, Hermione—still a bit confused . . . can't understand why we won't let her leave. Genera seems to be improving—at least, the swelling's going down. Dory says that she was very unwilling to take her potion yesterday morning." She lowered her voice. "You know how she gets."

"Mm-hmm," Jenna said distractedly, scribbling on an empty chart. "Still under control though, right?"

"Of course," Janis said confidently. "Dory and me are all set here. She's learning fast, that one."

"Good afternoon, Dory," Jenna called, leaning past Janis to look into the ward.

"Good afternoon, Healer Faye," a young blonde Healer-in-Training answered cheerily, looking up from a tower of paperwork that rivaled Hermione's. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Jenna replied. "Well, thanks Janis, have to be moving on."

"See you 'round," Janis said to Hermione with a brisk grimace that Hermione supposed passed for a smile, and shut the door of her ward. Hermione looked at Jenna, feeling very left out and bewildered.

"Didn't catch a word?" Jenna smiled at the confused look on Hermione's face. "It's really not that difficult. You get used to it. Basically—" she was scribbling furiously on Emma Genera's chart "—Susan Farell's condition hasn't changed at all, she's confused about where she is and why she can't leave. Emma Genera is improving in that her facial swelling is going down and that more of her free will is returning, hence her unwillingness to take her potion." Jenna signed the report with a flourish and started off down the hallway.

"That was the Scrimgeour Ward," she said over her shoulder, "for simple jinxes that have gone wrong. Usually not too many of those, unless it's an untrained wizard trying to use them. This here, Malacaster—" she indicated the next doorway "—is for misapplied Transfiguration." She swung open the door and was greeted by a harassed-looking Healer. Hermione, peeking over her shoulder, saw that every bed in the ward was full and that there was a large spill of a corrosive-looking potion on the floor, and winced.

She tagged along behind Jenna for the rest of the day, taking in so many new sights and medical terms that her mind reeled with information. Hermione had been the one to perform the Protean Charm on the folders, after hearing Jenna's confession that she had always been lousy at charmwork and continued to be lousy at it.

"Thank you," Jenna said gratefully as Hermione handed the stack of folders back to her. "You don't know what a relief that was for me—I've got a sort of mental block with charms, don't know why—"

Hermione shrugged.

"Look," said Jenna guiltily, piling the files on her desk and disrupting it's usual orderliness, "I'm awfully sorry I haven't been able to get you anything to work on. I promise I'll have something for you as soon as I can get ahold of it."

"Okay," Hermione replied passively.

Jenna looked as though she were going to say something else, opened her mouth, and then changed her mind. "If you ever need to talk about—anything—I'm a good listener, all right?" she said, looking kinder than Hermione had ever seen her look yet. "I know what you're going through," she said quietly, "and I know that saying that doesn't help anything. So if you want to talk, my door's always open."

Hermione felt her lower lip wobble. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jenna said, smiling. She gave a little wave as Hermione left her office.

- - - - -

As Hermione stepped out of her fireplace and into her living room, the first thing she noticed was an impatient-looking screech owl walking up and down her coffee table accompanied by alarming scritchy noises.

"Oh, stop it," Hermione begged, setting down her purse. "Don't scratch it up, I just polished it."

The owl hooted at her and stuck out its leg, and as soon as the letter had been removed, took off and gracefully soared out the open window. Hermione frowned.

"I didn't leave the window open this morning," she said, confused, and went over to shut it. She looked down at the letter, which had nothing written on the outside except for her name. She opened it and read:

Miss Granger:

On account of your recent mention in our previous issue, Witch Weekly would like to request an interview with you to get "the real story behind the gossip," as our mission statement dictates. Please respond at your earliest convenience, care of Obscurus Books Publishing House, 18a Diagon Alley, London. Witch Weekly appreciates your taking time to answer our questions.

Sincerely,

Jennifer Quint, Editor, Witch Weekly

Hermione stared at the letter, open-mouthed. What nerve, after the magazine had blackened her name and reputation, to ask for an interview. As if she would tell them anything at all now! Her hand was poised over the fire, ready to drop the letter in, when that one genuine-sounding phrase stopped her: "'the real story behind the gossip.'"

Well, if that were really true, she supposed it would be nice for the real story to be made commercially available to all of England. Even if she wasn't credited believable by everyone, she was certain there would be some wizards who would believe her story. Her hand wavered over the flames.

She placed the letter back inside its envelope and set it on the coffee table, looking at it pensively. This would definitely have to be slept on. At the moment, she was in no mood for heavy thought. She forcefully wrenched her mind back from the pathway down which it was not allowed to wander, which ultimately led to a certain blonde-haired wizard whom she had never been able to resist, and went to the kitchen to make her supper, turning the Wizarding Wireless Network up as loud as it would go.

She was passing through the living room much later, in the process of collecting her purse and heading in the direction of bed, when the dying fire suddenly glowed green and spat a bit of parchment out onto the hearthrug. Curious, Hermione picked up the message, and almost toppled over as she recognized the handwriting. Clutching the parchment to her chest, Hermione walked blindly to her room, shut and locked the door behind her, kicked off her heels, and sat on the edge of her bed. Shaking, she finally forced herself to read the message:

I don't know if you'll accept this, but I want to apologize. I can't say everything I want to on paper—it will come out too bluntly for my liking. I'm all tied up at work for the next two weeks. Can we meet sometime after that? I deeply regret all that happened, and I want to talk about it. When are you available? Do you want to talk? Please reply as soon as possible.

Draco

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath. She had been trying to forget about him all day, and now she was stuck with an ultimatum: reply and say yes, and either fix everything up or part in a worse situation; or say no, and kiss him goodbye forever. She didn't know what to think right now. She was tired from staying up all night crying her eyes out, and she was physically exhausted from trotting around after Jenna all over that damned hospital. She was, she suddenly realized, in a very foul mood. She grabbed a quill from the nightstand, and without pausing to think, scribbled her reply on the bottom of the page:

I really would rather not.

She stood up, headed for the fire, and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder off the mantel. She tossed it into the flames, watched them glow green, and then hesitated. Was it fair of her to do this to him?

Suddenly she didn't care if it was fair or not. She was sick to death of unfairness regarding her job, and didn't particularly care about causing it for other people at the moment. She threw the paper into the fire and whispered, "Malfoy Manor."

Then she crawled into bed and spent a sleepless night soaking her pillow with tears.